the light outside your
window casts a shadow
as deep as some canyon
across the plains of my
body.

i labor my breaths
as if you are the weight
pressing against my lungs.
the train barreling down
my spine

running on tracks
struck between what
i’ve given up for you
and what i’ll lose
either way.

we are riding this out
until it’s done.
and then we’ll just
leave it alone.

leave your clothes on the
floor for now. there are still
a few bittersweet seconds
we've yet to wrap ourselves
around, some we've yet to
harshly ignore, and then,
with that last look of contempt,
look away.

i will wait until i hear you leave
and i will lock the door behind
you. this is closure. and this is
closing the door behind you,
waiting until i hear you leave.

just as i've waited before.

this is the first measure, the
first atonement, the first or
even second fall from grace.
oh, we are not (and won’t be)
that far from any trees, be they
of good or of evil, or for
shelter from the harsh winter
that we've let on.

i will wait until i hear you leave.

i will lock the door and i won't
have to wait
any longer.

in town, there is this
bar with a sign out front
that simply reads "bar."
as if it were official.
as if everyone should know
that's the place you go
to forget how much you
really exist.

women are smoking
cigarettes outside the
place, casually like they
don't know they're
killing each other.

i ask the brunette if
i could borrow one,
as if i would ever
repay them.

i do not yet have a
weapon to defend
myself here.

some man stops me
and asks for change,
and when i can't find
any, i offer him my
borrowed prize.

i even lit it for him.

i notice the no smoking
sign placed above his head
like i was being taught
a lesson.

i just thought i was
passing on something
i'd already learned.

one frozen tv dinner later, i was
sitting on a bus in east athens.
going to meet my dealer, going
about my business, just like
we all were, then. that was before
and unfortunately, this is one too
many frozen tv dinners later. one
too many bottles of whatever was
left after i thought i had barely
enjoyed it all.

this is the step below, the struggle of
the common man. this is what our
parents didn't want us to see, this
is who they really were. we
are just inheriting it and will be
passing it along soon.

and we probably won't even care.

last november, it was thanksgiving,
and we were tired and hardly
thankful. you said it feels like home,

i said my food was still
a little frozen in
the middle.